


I Can't Help (Falling in Love with You)

by The_lazy_eye



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Fluff, I can write love and fluff god dammit, Implied Sexual Content, Love, M/M, Romance, soft smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-30
Updated: 2019-03-30
Packaged: 2019-12-26 18:50:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18288161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_lazy_eye/pseuds/The_lazy_eye
Summary: "Am I not allowed to show my husband how much I love him?”Stan places one of his own hands over Mikes, lacing their fingers together before turning and kissing the tip of each of digit. “You show me every day.”“Let me show you again.”





	I Can't Help (Falling in Love with You)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tinyarmedtrex](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinyarmedtrex/gifts).



“Mike, I’m not sure what this has to do with anything,” Stan says as he wanders into the next room. His spatial awareness is something he’s always taking pride in, especially now that he’s blindfolded and alone in his house. 

Well, he’s not alone. Mike is around here somewhere. The main issue is  _ where. _

“Mike, come on,” Stan says. Mike offers him nothing in return besides a soft, breathy laugh. It’s a dead giveaway because now Stan knows where he is. He’s in the back-left corner of the room, probably on the bed. Ha, ha on you, you fucker. Stan has the hearing of a bird, you’d think Mike would know this by now. 

Stan cocks a subtle grin and moves in the direction of Mike’s laugh as he feels small waves of excitement roll through his body. 

Mike offered him no explanation when he tied the blindfold around Stan’s eyes. The only thing he said was  _ trust me  _ and then everything went black. Mike had kissed him once and then there was the silent rustle of clothing and a gentle hand guiding him through their home. Stan paid attention to every step and turn that lead them to their current situation. 

“Mikey,” Stan says one more time. It’s a last-ditch effort to get Mike to tell him what’s going on, what all this is for. He knows that he could easily take the blindfold off and figure it out for himself. It’d be easy and there’s nothing stopping him. Mike wouldn’t be mad, he’d hardly even be disappointed, but that soft look he’d get in his eyes would be enough to turn Stan’s entire body upside-down. There’s nothing in this world that Stan hates more than disappointing Mike, even if his lover is too sweet to say something. 

His voice greets a silent room. 

They stay there for a moment, basking in the stillness of the moment. Stan’s world is completely dark but he can see Mike in his mind. He dances behind Stan’s eyelids, swaying with the music inside of their heads. A large hand, much larger than Stan’s own, reaches out and takes hold and soon they’re dancing together. Stan can almost feel the way Mike’s arms wrap around him, wrap him up into something so soft and safe and warm. They swing in the kitchen while dinner sizzles in the background, twirl in the bathroom while the shower water heats up, sway in the bed while the news plays in the background. 

Stan almost loses himself in his own memories until a firm kiss gets placed upon his shoulder. He feels Mike’s lips run soothing trails along his neck, his collarbone, his jawline. His fingers ghost along the waistline of Stan’s sweatpants, playing with the elastic waistband of the boxer briefs that peak out. 

Stan lets out a gentle sigh, relishing in the way Mike’s lips move against his skin. It’s so gentle, so calm. Any tension or stress that Stan has carried over from the previous work week melts out his muscles. It simmers to the ground and evaporates into the room around them, becomes salient in a new way. 

“Michael,” comes out in a whisper, “are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

Mike lets out another breathy chuckle and trails his fingers up the backs of Stan’s arms. He slowly ghosts them over his shoulders and up the back of his neck. They stop and play with the curls at the base of his head, gently running through them and twisting the locks in a soothing way. There’s no helping the way Stan’s head tilts back, leaning into Mike’s touches and chasing the pressure. 

Slowly, Mike makes his way up to the blindfold and undoes it. He gently undoes the loose knot and lets it fall to the ground. Stan doesn’t open his eyes immediately, he relishes in the way Mike has pressed his entire body against him. He can smell the sandalwood of Mike’s cologne mixed with something that is distinctly Mike. It’s a little bit of musk and a little bit of the Dove body wash he steals from Stan’s shelf in the shower. 

It’s cute the way he thinks Stan doesn’t notice that Mike’s Old Spice hasn’t been touched in over a year. 

Mike continues to kiss along the length of Stan’s jaw, letting Stan adjust to the low light of their bedroom. As it comes into focus, the scene before him is beautiful. Over Mike’s shoulder, Stan can see candles strewn about the entire bedroom; little tea light things he must have ordered in bulk from amazon. They sit on the bedside table, on the dresser, on the TV stand. They’re literally everywhere. It’s basically one giant fire hazard. 

Beneath them, also on every surface imaginable, are rose petals. They’re not just red, no. They’re every color imaginable: yellow, pink, orange, red. There’s an entire rainbow littering the floor of their room. It must have taken Mike hours to arrange because Stan can tell that they weren’t just thrown around. They’re lined up and organized into little, neat lines of color. No petal is placed next to a color that might clash with it. On the bed, he’s arranged a stack of pedals into a large heart. 

The last thing Stan notices is two glasses of chilled wine on the bedside table. There’s a thin sheen of condensation dripping from the lip and running down the stem onto the coasters Mike has set out. Stan knows just by looking at it that it’s sauvignon blanc, his favorite. 

Just as he thinks every detail is perfect, Stan switches his focus to take in the man in front of him. Mike is clad in nothing but a pair of satin, purple briefs and a soft smile. 

“I don’t –” Stan starts but he’s cut off by Mike’s gentle kiss. Their lips move together, gently caressing each other as they slip into the moment. 

“I love you,” is all Mike offers him. 

“I’m missing something, aren’t I?” Stan asks and he believes it in earnest. There are so many things to keep track of in his life, so many things that are important. Normally, he does a good job at remembering them. Never once has he missed an anniversary or a birthday or even a meeting. Mr. Chips Jr. gets fed every single day at seven and five, the coffee is set to brew at six thirty, and Sundays are for laundry. He prides himself in his ability to keep track of the mundane, yet important. And Mike is so, so important. 

“No, you’re not missing anything,” Mike reassures but Stan doesn’t always believe him. Mike has a habit of pushing past things that might be important to spare the feelings of others. He would rather let things be than hurt another person. 

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Mike smiles. He gently cups Stan’s cheeks, brushing a thumb under his left eye. “Am I not allowed to show my husband how much I love him?”

Stan places one of his own hands over Mike’s, lacing their fingers together before turning and kissing the tip of each of digit. “You show me every day.”

“Let me show you again,” Mike whispers in response and then Stan is being led to the bed. Mike runs a soothing hand underneath Stan’s shirt. His fingers trace the subtle definition of his muscles, bringing a shudder up the length of Stan’s spine. His shirt is guided up and off while Mike attaches his lips to the skin of his pec. He sucks gentle bruises, nips the sensitive flesh and then kisses the sting away just how Stan likes it. 

He’s lowered onto the bed by Mike’s strong hands, pressed into the mattress by Mike’s lean frame. Bliss washes over him as Mike rolls his hips. It’s leisurely, but the pressure is there and each roll sends shocks down every nerve ending in Stan’s body. 

Mike takes his time taking his husband apart. He teases at Stan’s nipples with his tongue and teeth, scrapes his nails down the sensitive skin of his sides, digs his fingertips into the grooves of his hips; all the while whispering praise into the air of their bedroom. 

“You are my everything,” he says and Stan believes him. He’s always believed him. “I know I could live in this world without you, but I never want to. Having you by my side has given my life a different kind of meaning.”

It goes on for hours. Mike savors every second, every taste he can get of Stan and Stan falls apart for it all. By the time Mike finally sinks in, he’s so overwhelmed, so overcome with ecstasy that silent tears trace down the sides of his face. The push of Mike’s hips into his, the measured pace that Mike takes with him, sends him to another plane of existence. 

“I want you to always know the ways in which I love you,” Mike says in his ear. Stan hears him through the haze of it all, clings on to every word Mike says. “I love you the way the moon loves the tide. I love you the way the grass loves the sun. I love you the way Mr. Chips Jr. loves his wet food.”

Stan laughs at the last one, a wet sort of chuckle that breaks into a meaningful sob at the end. Though the pace never quickens, the pressure in the bottom of his gut builds higher, winds tighter with each word that falls from Mike’s mouth. 

Stan can’t talk in response. Instead, he can only chant  _ Mike  _ and  _ love  _ and  _ you  _ over and over again in time with every thrust. 

Before Stan met Mike he’d only ever known the quick hand of a lover without love. He never knew that you could cum from peace and rhythm. Sex doesn’t always have to be a frantic race to get to the finish line. Sometimes the best buildups come from the intent, not the expenditure. 

When he spills over Mike’s hand he sees a blinding white. The only things that he knows are the press of Mike’s lips to the side of his neck, the soft touch of the satin sheets below him, and the cool air chilling the sweat on his skin. Mike follows soon after with Stan’s name on the tip of his tongue. 

“I’m happy with my life with you,” Mike whispers, “You make me feel like the world is brand new every single day.”

The wine is warm by the time they drink it, but Stan knows there’s no greater joy in life than this. 

**Author's Note:**

> This is a belated birthday gift for tinyarmedtrex. I hope you enjoy it, dear. The world needs more Stanlon, especially you.


End file.
